http://tabletopaudio.com/index.html?53 Please play this as you read, for a little ambience.

Three years. Three years they'd been together, and it was gone, over in a moment. Well, not quite a moment; more like several hours filled with arguing, begging, and pleading, but it had all been useless, and things, well, things might as well have been over in a moment for all the good it'd done.

They'd been in love, he was sure, as in love as two people could be. She, apparently, had decided otherwise; had decided otherwise about six months before, though she'd been very thorough in finding out, and had asked several men along the way, apparently. No mention of it to him, though, until she'd told him that day that she didn't love him, didn't want him, couldn't stand to be around him any more.

The ring he'd had in his pocket had suddenly become as heavy as a millstone, and the tickets tucked into his jacket had suddenly seemed completely pointless. He'd told her, anyway, what the plan had been, as though by telling her last minute he could still convince her to go on the trip, could still convince her that she actually did love him after all.

But no.

He'd been planning to propose. Not just propose. To take her on The Orient Express, the world's most romantic train to the world's most romantic place; Venice, from Paris. He'd been planning to take the ring out maybe an hour outside Paris, propose, celebrate with her over the next few hours or day or however long it took to get to Venice, and then...marry her when they got there. It would have been a whirlwind engagement, and entirely out of character for him, but that was what would have made it such a surprise.

And yet.

And yet, when she broke up with him, he'd still felt, in another out-of-character moment, that there was no sense in wasting a perfectly good proposal plan, right? It was a very good proposal plan. In fact, he'd got everything arranged with the staff, and he didn't really have the strength to call them, and tell them things had changed.

But how could he go ahead, with nobody to marry?

The internet, of course.

He posted on various sites- forums, social media, craigslist. A simple little ad, outlining the situation, with a brief itinerary of what would happen. It was, he thought, perfectly clear what he was looking for; someone who wanted a trip of a lifetime, who wanted to be proposed to, who wanted, in short, to be a fiancée and a girlfriend and possibly a wife, just for the length of a train journey, there and back. All expenses paid, of course, except for travel costs, which he was prepared to go halfsies on.

The replies trickled in, little by little, and most of them weren't even worth bothering with. He'd made sure to include a little clause, a little caveat in the ad; that there'd be no details, no sharing of information, not even names. Just an initial, if that. Most messages had been forthcoming with details, though- some had even included pictures, pictures of women that he'd have killed to so much as smile at; but he'd been specific, and he had to remain steadfast in that, so he'd replied with a polite 'thank you for your message, but we've gone in another direction' email that he'd grown used to sending from work, and continued his search.

Just when he gave up hope, there was her.

There were no details in her messages, but the tone, the style, the way she wrote made him know her immediately, made him feel so utterly comfortable around her. He thought she was American or English by the way she wrote- certain words and phrases, certain spellings gave her away- but other than that, he had no idea what she was like. They made idle chitchat in the messages, strictly sticking to the 'no personal details' caveat he'd added, but he still knew her, still felt like he knew her, and so it was, well, a no-brainer.

When he told her she'd been the one he'd chosen, she'd been ecstatic in her message, telling him he wouldn't regret the decision. He'd sent her an e-copy of her ticket, told her the platform they were leaving from, the time they were leaving, the compartment they'd had booked. He'd be there, waiting, he told her, and she said she'd meet him there.

True to his word, he was there, waiting patiently in the compartment as the train pulled away from the station. He'd never been so nervous, he didn't think, never been so nervous and excited and worried and anxious and happy and...and...

He jumped at a knock on the door, stifling a yelp, taking a moment to compose himself. He'd gone with a suit for the journey, and he made sure it was smoothed out, made sure it was neat, that his hair was neat, his smile was neat, his everything was neat.

He took a deep breath, arranged himself nonchalantly by the window, then turned his head, and called out “come in”.

And the door opened.

You know when you have a really good idea, and you work it all out in your head, and then you write it, and it turns out shit compared to what you wanted to do?

Yeah. That happened.

So we've got this. Not quite what I wanted to do, but it'll work, I think. I hope.

Quick note- I write in first person in actual roleplay, but third person felt slightly better for this prompt.

Uh, if there's thoughts, questions, queries, comments, fling 'em in my direction, otherwise...I look forward to the little orange envelopes!